


A Good Idea

by happywriter16



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, post-escape, romance novel-esq, way better than the original version i wrote a long time ago
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 20:26:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7478772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happywriter16/pseuds/happywriter16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-escape. Sara goes to Michael after his release from prison to serve his original sentence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good Idea

**Author's Note:**

> So I posted this on LJ back in 2006 (happywriter06 on LJ). Fast-forward almost 10 years (wow!) and I've reworked the story a bit because I'd like to think I'm a better writer today. I like romance novels and this is romance novel-esq.

Michael looks at his watch. 6 days, 6 hours, 6 minutes, 6 seconds since I left he thinks to himself. He stands leaning against a porch post – left hand in his left pocket and right hand holding a coffee mug – of the cabin in the woods, breathing in the cool October air. He’s alone waiting for Linc and LJ to come back from wherever. He had been asleep when they left. It’s now six o’clock and they still haven’t returned. 

He hears the sound of a car coming. When it comes into view, it’s a car he doesn’t recognize. His stomach drops and his heart is beating that much faster. In no time he feels like a wanted man all over again. He turns, moving fast to get back inside. He’ll bolt the door, grab the gun and wait. He’ll follow the protocols they set up for times like this. 

He can hear the sound of the car stopping and turning off. Then nothing until the car door opens and closes. He wonders if the person was gathering up their weapons, preparing to attack. 

The feet landing on the stairs are softer than he expected, slow like the person is hesitant. It’s only a few steps from the top step to the front door but it seems like time stretches before he hears whoever it is stop and then knock. 

“Michael, it’s me.” 

Spending time in prison and on the run means he’s used to going from calm to scared shitless to some weird combination of feelings in a manner of minutes. So the urge to throw up, sprint to the door, and just stand there dumbfounded is nothing new. 

“Michael?”

He hasn’t heard her voice in years. The way his voice sounds when he answers sounds like he hasn’t used his in months. Once the door is open, she’s as beautiful as he remembers. 

This time when he opens his mouth to say her name his voice catches in his throat. She smiles at his lost for words. He smiles, too. Smiles are always a good sign. 

She steps inside without his invitation, the shock of this moment having him at a lost as to what to do. As she walks, she takes off her jacket and throws it, along with her purse, on the couch. Moments pass before he closes the door and then walks closer, stopping when they’re arms-length apart. When he opens his mouth to speak, to launch into the speech he’s been going over in his head for months on end, she closes the distance between them and puts a finger on his lips.“Don’t speak,” she says. “Take me to your room.” 

He takes her by the hand, makes to move toward the bedroom because her tone tells him not to argue when just the first touch stops him. The feeling of her hand in his stops him, taken back to the infirmary the very moment when she turned to go and he grabbed her hand. It still feels the same. This time it’s an electric current of want coursing through him. His heart is back to racing. He turns her hand over, feels her pulse point to see if he’s having the same effect on her. 

“Your room,” she says in his left ear. Her breath on his skin kicks him out of his daydream. He looks up at her. He does not say ok but his eyes do. The eyes that haunted her in the day and in the night. The eyes that had convinced her to not forget him the moment he left her infirmary for the first time. The eyes that now had so many questions, so many fears, so many hopes. 

He leads her to his room at the end of the hall. It is not much but it is all that he needs in the world right now. He closes the door and turns right into her. 

Her lips graze his as she says, “Don’t speak.” She is so close that she can feel him hardened. She smiles. He takes the smile as an invitation to do something he has waited over five years to do. 

Her lips are as soft as he remembers. And tastes as sweet as he remembers, like kiwi chapstick. She still uses it. For not having been able to do this, the kisses are surprisingly slow and deliberate, him following her lead. A part of him wants to go faster, strip bare and her, too. Touch from head to foot all soft flesh. It’s been too long.

He’s never not been a patient man and what’s another few minutes after hundreds of thousands of them. He feels her hands find their way under his sweater and around his chest and torso. Soon his chest and torso feel the cool October air from the open window coil around him as she lifts his shirt over his head. 

His tattoos are the very definition of getting something meaning etched into your skin. His brother’s life. He’s at once proud he was able to save Lincoln and at the time same self-conscious about the tattoos. Reminders of the worse years of his life. The sight of them is bound to change the mood. 

She’s staring at his chest, running her fingers up and down his chest, torso, sides, whatever she can reach. Then she’s kissing his chest, as if to say “It’s ok.” Then he feels her step away, a little smile playing on her lips. She starts to remove her clothes, shoes first then working her way up. Soon she’s standing before him naked as if it is the most normal thing in the world. 

It isn’t. It has been years since they have seen each other. This isn’t normal. I should stop this. God, that smile. 

“Take off your pants,” she says. 

When he naked, too, she holds her right hand out to him. He smiles back and takes her hand. She leads him to the foot of the bed. She sits, scoots back and lies down. 

He wants to savor this so he starts at her toes and kisses them. Then her ankles. Her shins. Knees. The inside of her thighs. He hesitates to go further even though she’s made it clear she wants this. 

He kisses her lips first, the patch of hair tickling his lips. Then he’s opening her open with his tongue, letting the taste of slide over his tongue. She smells like all woman and he has to reach a hand down to steady himself. He can’t come before they even get started.

They’d done this once before. Hurried sex in a moment of pure want and adrenaline coursing through their veins. The first time wasn’t supposed to go that way but it wasn’t like anything had gone their way. It wanted to take his time then. Now too many years later he can even if just a few minutes ago he was ready to move this along much faster. 

He tastes like he planned to do the first time. Sliding his tongue in and around her folds. Flicking it around her clit. Pressing it flat against it. Feeling his fingers slide in and out of her in the juices she’s making. The sounds she makes mix with the sounds of nature he can hear coming in through the window. It’s perfect. 

She’s coming with an uncontrollable shake to her legs and her hands attempting to push him away all the while moaning his name. Her grabbing what she can of his hair, stops him. Her color is pink, nearly red, the flush spread all over her face, chest and stomach. He just watches her catch her breath as he sits back on his haunches, one hand holding himself from spilling right there. 

“Damn it!” Sara says, laughing. Her hands have gone to her face. “Damn it!”

“What?” Michael asks, a bubble of panic rising in his gut. “What’s wrong?”

“I need my purse.”

“Purse. I’ll get it.” He watches her move to the edge of the bed then walk out into the living room as if this is something she does all the time. When she comes back, she sets her purse down on the night stand then turns around, the foil packet in between her fingers. “Got it.”

He can’t help it when his face breaks out into the biggest grin he can remember having in a longest time. It’s something about her smile, all natural and comfortable. Like two teenagers doing it for the first time because they managed to get a whole house to themselves. Free. Free.

He can’t his eyes off of her as she moves back onto the bed, coming to kneel before him. She doesn’t take her eyes off him as she slips the condom on, her touch so gentle. Thank God for that. It’s a wonder he didn’t come when her legs were wrapped around his head and it felt like it was all too much for a man that hasn’t had any in forever. 

“Ready?” she asks. He just shakes his head. 

He leans in and plants the gentlest kiss on her lips in gratitude for her kindness, her understanding, her forgiveness. She wouldn’t be here otherwise.

She guides him to her entrance and he takes it from there. He is slow and gentle but then she wraps her legs around him and pushes him. He moves in one long stroke, only a little burn. She keeps her legs like that until he has to takes the left one and pushes it a little higher, changes the angle just a bit. Then he’s coming, pounding into her, almost feels like bone on bone before he collapses to the side of her. 

The sounds from outside mix with their heaving breathing. He shivers at the feel of the breeze blowing over his body. She shivers, too. He looks over at her and she’s got her eyes closed. He gets up to dispose of the condom and grabs a couple of glasses of water. She doesn’t open her eyes again until she feels the bed dip beside her. 

“Sara, I…” She turns to him. Once again her finger is on his lips. “We’ll talk in the morning,” she says before closing her eyes again. He grabs another blanket from the top of the closet and spreads it over them as he settles in next to her. 

 

 

When he wakes, alone in the center of his bed, he thinks last night was a dream. There is no trace of her anyone but him in the room. But he knows it was real. He’s still naked under the extra blanket they laid under. He slides on the jeans and sweater that now lays on the only chair in his room.

Once out of the bathroom, he makes his way to the kitchen at the front of the cabin. The curtains are open so he sees Sara’s red hair, hears her talking to Linc and LJ on the front porch. It takes everything he has to grab a cup of coffee to steady him before he goes outside. He steps out onto the porch and there she’s sitting and laughing with Linc and LJ. 

“Good morning, Michael,” she says. 

“Hey, Uncle Mike,” LJ says. 

“Bout time you woke up,” Linc says. 

“What’s going on?” Michael asks as his eyes dart from Sara to Linc to LJ and back again. 

“Just breakfast. Go get a plate,” Linc says before turning back to Sara to finish whatever conversation he had interrupted. He saw the pots on the stove and ignore them. 

“Sara…” 

“Eat first. We have time.” 

He gets his plate and comes back outside to join in the conversation. 

 

It is not long before Sara and Michael are left alone. Michael rests against the porch railing, hands in pockets, head down, thinking of how to begin the conversation. He had planned out what he was going to say but now nothing comes to him. He hadn’t planned for on last night and last night changes things. 

Sara sits in her chair, feet under her, hands clasped around her mug of coffee. She waits for him although he feels like she should maybe start because of last night. Thoughts of last night - his face at seeing her, his face when she got naked, his face when she had said “No worries” - dance behind her eyes. 

“You want to go for a walk?” he asks. 

“What?” Sara says shaking her head to clear her mind. “I didn’t hear you.” 

“I asked if you wanted to go for a walk.” 

“Sure.” 

It is not long before they are at the lake’s dock and they still haven’t spoken. They sit on the edge and stare into the distance. 

“Linc and I have been in contact for the past year,” Sara starts. She waits for a reaction but does not get one. “I called him and asked him to meet me for lunch. He did. I asked a lot of questions. I got a lot of answers.” 

“Why didn’t you come to me?” 

“I still wasn’t ready to see you. And it’s not like in Fox River we could talk like we needed to.”

“Is that what the kids are calling what we did last night, talking?”

She bumps his shoulder. “I didn’t plan on that, at least not the first thing. I saw you and…” She stops. He turns to look at her. She looks at him. “It just felt like the right thing to do at the time.” 

He laughs, too. “The right thing to do at the time. I know the feeling.” 

“I bet you do.”

They fall silent for a while after the laughter has died down. 

“I’m sorry Sara.” 

“I know Michael.” 

“I wanted you to like me. I planned on you liking me, trusting me. I just didn’t plan on what you did to me.” 

“I know. Now I know. Lincoln told me everything. It wasn’t overnight that I stopped being angry and hurt. I got there though. I’m here.” 

“I hoped you’d forgive me.” 

“Kinda hard not to forgive after knowing the truth.” 

“Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.”


End file.
